


lit up

by ohmcgee



Series: little beasts [20]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 22:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5222909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first couple of times they had to get their hands dirty Bruce would take him home and Jason would shake and shake, not even realizing he was doing it, his eyes fucked up, teeth chattering, until Bruce poured him a drink and put a pill on his tongue and fucked him until he forgot his own name, until he screamed and laughed when he came and said <i>when can we do that again?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	lit up

“Come with me,” Jason murmurs, passing a pill from his tongue into Bruce’s mouth as Bruce’s hands come down around his ass and squeeze, dragging him down into his lap. 

The left side of Jason’s face is splattered with someone else’s blood and there’s a knife cut high on his right cheek; Bruce tangles his fingers in Jason’s hair and pulls him forward, drags his tongue over the gash and tastes the coppery-sweet tang of Jason’s blood in his mouth, tips Jason’s head back and fucks his tongue into his mouth.

Jason was half lit before they even got back to the penthouse, pupils dilated and dick hard just from watching Bruce snap the neck of every guard like it was nothing, from getting perfect headshot after headshot, just like Bruce taught him. The last guy came out of nowhere, neither of them knew he was there. He jumped Jason and got his hands around his neck, choking the fucking life out of him, and Jason just barely had time to turn his head to the side before Bruce put the barrel of his gun to the back of the guy’s head and sprayed his brains everywhere. 

Bruce had gotten Jason off once on the ride back, Dick’s left foot up on the dash while he changed the radio station every two seconds, licked the taste of Jason off of his hand as Jason wrapped his hot mouth around him, went down on him until Bruce kicked the back of Dick’s seat and came down Jason’s throat. 

Now they’re home and Jason always needs a little something to take the edge off after a particularly bloody job, no matter how much he loves it. The first couple of times they had to get their hands dirty Bruce would take him home and Jason would shake and shake, not even realizing he was doing it, his eyes fucked up, teeth chattering, until Bruce poured him a drink and put a pill on his tongue and fucked him until he forgot his own name, until he screamed and laughed when he came and said _when can we do that again?_

“I need you,” Jason murmurs as he rides him -- so, so slow -- and Bruce’s hand slips off the slick skin of Jason’s back when he tries to get a good grip on him. “Stay with me.”

Jason’s hair is wet from blood and wet from sweat and curling up around his ears and his temples, one rogue curl right in the middle of his forehead. His eyes are so dark they don’t even look human anymore and Bruce thinks that’s about right. Jason’s always been more than that, more than just some boy who crawled out of the gutter and found him as if it’s what he was always meant to do. He’s unearthly, angelic in the way that he moves and laughs and kills and Bruce would spend forty-seven hours of every day worshipping him the way he deserves to be worshipped. 

“Bruce?” Jason says and Bruce realizes he’s squeezing Jason’s face between his hands, pressing their noses together as he fucks up into him, slow, deep thrusts that make Jason’s eyes roll into the back of his head. 

“I,” Bruce says, his tongue dry as sandpaper. Swallows and tries again. “I do believe I’m extremely fucking high.”

Jason laughs and laughs and Bruce swallows it down, eats it up, feeds off of it like it’s all he ever needs for survival, then throws Jason down on the carpet and wraps his fingers around the bruises someone else left on Jason’s throat and Jason comes so hard it makes Bruce whine, the clench of him so white-hot tight around his cock and Jason says _don’t stop, don’t you ever fucking stop --_

And Bruce thinks _you have no idea_ right before he squeezes Jason’s hips and comes inside of him, the veins in his arms looking as if they might burst from the force of it. 

“Fuck,” Jason says a few moments later, tucked up against Bruce’s side, tracing the jagged scar on his ribs with one of his nails. 

“Better?” Bruce asks and Jason bites his nipple in response.

“Need a fuckin’ shower,” he says and raises up onto his elbows, grinning. “Wash my hair for me, Bruce?”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “I suppose I look like a beautician?”

“You look,” Jason says, throwing his leg over him. He’s already half-hard again; Bruce has no idea how he keeps up with him. “Like you want to wash my hair for me.”

“Perhaps,” Bruce says and digs his fingers into Jason’s ass, rolls them to that he’s on top and lets his hand drift between Jason’s thighs, teases Jason’s slick, loose rim with his fingertip. “Perhaps all I want to do is eat you out for so long that you hate me.”

“Sure,” Jason says, wrapping his legs around Bruce and digging his heels into his back. “Right after you wash my hair for me.” 

“Brat,” Bruce says, laughing in spite of himself and watches Jason get up off the floor and walk into the bathroom.

Bruce is the best assassin in the country. He can kill a dozen men in less than sixty seconds with nothing but his bare hands. This boy, one hundred and fifty pounds of cocksureness and bravado, this boy who sings Depeche Mode in the shower and makes pancakes in the shape of handguns and rescues dogs from abusive owners should not be his downfall. 

“Where the fuck is my loofah?” Jason calls from the shower and Bruce shakes his head, rolls onto his knees and pushes off of the floor.

Men have been taken down by worse things, he supposes.


End file.
